


he brought him home.

by lovesincerelyharry



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-14
Updated: 2013-07-14
Packaged: 2017-12-20 03:50:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/882612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovesincerelyharry/pseuds/lovesincerelyharry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis takes his stepfather's boat and meets his future on the coast of Italy.</p><p>Based off these <a href="http://certainfates.tumblr.com/post/54860160246/orbitae-untitled-by-joaquien-on-flickr">AU tags</a> on tumblr.</p><p>Revised 11.24.16. No archive warnings apply. There are explicit scenes. </p><p>Also found at <a href="http://lovesincerelyharry.tumblr.com">lovesincerelyharry</a> on tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	he brought him home.

**Author's Note:**

> Revised and slightly edited. I hope you enjoy.
> 
> No archive warnings apply. There are explicit scenes.

The music echoed in his ears, and the words didn’t sound like words anymore, only a muddled mess of far-too-loud bass and a rhythm he didn’t understand. The room smelled of cologne, perfume, and hormones, and the floor shook with the gyrating bodies of over two hundred people. As he watched the grinding and dancing and chaos in the middle of his parents’ living room, he quietly stood in the corner, sipping thoughtfully on his beer, trying to make a break for it. Five feet to his right was a closed door, the exit to his refuge, but he couldn’t manage it. Every second he thought about it, a bubbly girl or an overly-masculine guy walked over and attempted to make small talk. Some of them knew he was the quote-unquote host of the party, whereas others just came over for a laugh at his loneliness. But Louis wasn’t laughing; right at that moment, the only thing he wanted was just that: to be alone.

His mother thought it would be a good idea. Have Louis invite some of his closest friends, to which they invited their closest friends, to which those people invited their friends, et cetera, et cetera. And now, Louis was here, standing in a crowded room with not one person he knew. And even his mother and stepfather were nowhere to be found, leaving for the night to leave Louis to his party with his, what they deemed, closest friends.

It wasn’t about the money, no, that wasn’t it. It wasn’t about the gifts and presents and birthday parties and endless Christmas presents, no. Louis didn’t care about that. He was raised that way. When he was three, he got a small motorized car, and when he broke it the next day, he got an exact replica an hour later. When he was six and he had an obsession with the Power Rangers, his mother bought him life-sized cut-outs and an over-abundance of action figures. When he was ten, he didn’t even ask for it, but he received two dogs, puppies at the time. But after a week or two, he became just as bored with them as the toys and presents from years prior.

Seventeen seemed to be a big year, something that his parents were obviously looking forward to. On the morning of his birthday, he stumbled downstairs, groggy and not in the mood, but he was greeted by two happy faces, prepared to dote upon their only child. And when they blind-folded him and guided him outside, a new car sat in front of him, parked in the driveway next to a motorcycle and a new bike, just in case. It rendered Louis speechless, not because he was in awe over the presents but because it was too much, too overzealous for his birthday. He was just one person, one seventeen-year-old, like every other teen in the world. Yet somehow, he was the one out of millions that got three modes of transportation that day. It made him upset, and quite frankly, it made him yawn.

And now, he was here, stuck in a party he didn’t want with nowhere to go but down. His stomach ached from lack of food, and his head thumped, a migraine surely forming. It was already one in the morning on the summer night, but the party was far from over. When Louis saw that the slow song suddenly changed to an upbeat rhythm, he took it as his chance to run. He moved five feet over, grabbed the doorknob, and retreated into the dusty den. He slammed his back to the door and slid down, resting peacefully on the floor. The beer met his lips, and he tipped the bottle back, the murky, flavorful liquid trickling down his dry throat. Here in the room, the music was muted, dulled, and Louis finally had the chance to think, something he swore he could never do himself.

He was twenty years old. He still lived at his parents’ house. He was going to school, but his attention was elsewhere. He wanted something, something that money could not buy. His parents could never get it for him, nor could he pick it up on the streets of England. That something seemed out of his reach, but he could taste it.

As he took another sip of his lukewarm alcohol, he pushed himself off of the floor and walked over to the bookshelves on the back wall. His fingers brushed against the spines, dust falling to the floor. Gingerly, he pulled out one of the books, not touched for over a year at least. As the spine cracked and the book screamed to be shut again, the words on the page that Louis opened to shouted at him, and one word jumped out, begging to be seen.

_Freedom._

He didn’t realize how badly he wanted it until it was right in front of him, staring at him in black and white. He crinkled the page and ripped it out, knowing no one would miss it. As he put the book back, he considered exactly what this newfound freedom would be like. He had no idea how to achieve it, nor how to go about keeping it. When the music changed again, his chances to leave kept decreasing. The door to the kitchen called to him; he made his way out of the den and into the fluorescent lighting, moving quickly as to avoid all contact and stares. When he finally reached the deck off the kitchen, he sprinted down the stairs and onto the beach. The North Sea stretched out before him, as far as the eye could see, the moonlight shining down on the rippling water. The wind blew quietly, and Louis’ fringe tickled his forehead. Then, he saw it, the one thing that would take him to his freedom.

It was a boat, just a boat, docked on the boardwalk leading into the sea. It had two sails supported by one mast in the middle of the deck. The sails billowed in the wind and boards of the dock creaked, and Louis lit up brighter than the reflecting moon. The boat called to him and pulled him across the beach. As he got closer to his freedom, the music behind him faded and messy bodies ceased to exist. In that moment, when Louis stepped onto his stepfather’s boat, he knew that, no matter where he went, anywhere would be better than the exhausting, cookie-cutter lifestyle he had here.

The wind blew that night in his favor, and he made it out to sea about a mile offshore. He followed the land to his right as he drifted peacefully down the side of England. The lights shown bright on shore, but the stars were brighter, giving Louis the light he needed to scuttle around the small boat and get everything he would need. The nonperishable food was in a cabinet under the deck, right next to the small but comforting bed. Underneath the pillow from weeks ago was his journal, a pen bookmarking the last entry he made. He grabbed a blanket and that same pillow and lay out on the deck towards the bow, watching the stars drift past him.

He was twenty, a man of his own destiny, and all he had to his name was a wallet, a credit card, a few hundred bucks, a journal, and some stale crackers with beef jerky. Every second before that moment, he had everything; anything he wanted, it was his. Suddenly, all of the tangible things he owned disappeared, and now, he just had his thoughts and freedom. The wealth grew boring, regular, easily attainable. Now, he finally had something his own: freedom. The adventure, the big-picture, he couldn’t wait to have that as well.

By day three, he was not yet sick of the sea. From what he could judge, he was almost through the English Channel. To the left of him, he knew France was right over there, but all he saw was water. Somehow, he would make it there.

By the sixth day, as he floated past the Bay of Biscay on his way to Spain and Portugal, he picked up his journal for the tenth time. He flipped through the pages prior, skimming what he’d written years before. When he received the journal at age twelve, once in a while, he would write something worth documenting: A first kiss, a stomach full of butterflies, a secret, a confession. A majority of his confessions was not something he’d share with his parents. In their world, their perfect, money-filled world, Louis’ demons were not something they wanted. Truthfully, Louis didn’t want them either.

By day nine, as he entered the Strait of Gibraltar, Louis had been thinking – a lot. His demons, his deepest secrets, kept coming to the surface, brushing past the barriers that had held them back for over four years. As the sun shone down on him, he wrote in his journal, frantically trying to capture the thoughts that were resonating in his head.

It started with the first time he kissed a girl; in his bedroom at fifteen, it was strange. Her lips moved with his, but they were dancing to a different beat. His hands travelled over her body, but he didn’t have any direction. When he kissed her for over fifteen minutes and when she left his room, he looked down at his jeans and saw nothing, no sign that it had meant anything physically to him.

That’s when he really started using his journal.

Those thoughts he wrote down were mean and hateful and harming to him. For a year, he sat in silence, tortured with who he was. Until three months after his sixteenth birthday; that’s when the journal entries started to change. Louis didn’t even know his name, still doesn’t, but he caught his attention across the coffee shop. The man was tall and lanky and quiffy, and he had another man draped over his shoulders. The other man was roughly his height with a smaller, less ostentatious quiff. Then, right before Louis’ eyes, the taller man leaned down and kissed the other.

That was when Louis realized that it wasn’t shameful to like men.

Once he travelled through the Straight, he put away his journal and watched the sun set. The boat rocked beneath him, putting his nearly empty stomach on edge. He craved land and human interaction and, quite frankly, a drink. In four days’ time, the coast of Italy, somewhere he always wanted to go, was in his sight. Fighting against the wind, he docked on the beach of a small town. The buildings were crumbling, and people were scarce. Just as night fell, Louis followed the sound of sweet, melodic Italian music and hoped where there was music there would be a bar.

He entered the town square, and two little boys ran past him, following after their mother twenty feet in front of them. A small sign hung in front of a little coffee shop; it read, “Caffè di Minori.” Louis smiled at the quaint town and continued towards the music coming from a small bar in the corner of the square.

When he walked in, the smells of alcohol and Italian cuisine filled his senses. The ambience was rich and decadent, and Louis quickly found himself taking a seat at a table, not wanting to leave. The menu there was something he couldn’t decode. He recognized a couple words to translate, but ordering was going to be a challenge in a country that didn’t speak his native language.

Not looking up, he heard footsteps coming his way. By this point, his anxiety was kicking in. He didn’t want to make a fool out of himself, but as the waiter neared him, he realized that was exactly what was going to happen.

“Buonasera.”

Louis’ ears picked up on the voice instantaneously. The words dripped out of his mouth, a deep voice speaking perfect Italian. Louis’ heart picked up just a bit as his fingers gripped the menu a little tighter.

Instead of saying anything, Louis picked his head up and met the eyes of his waiter. His eyes sent a current through Louis’ body. As Louis’ eyes trailed down the boy’s figure – beautiful face, broad shoulders, tiny waist, long legs, gorgeous hands – he was glad he waited until now to dock. Also, he was glad he changed out of his clothes before coming in here.

The waiter smiled, a pair of dimples grinning back at Louis. His eyes glistened, and Louis most certainly felt his heart skip a beat.

“Buonasera, signore.” This time, there was a laugh in the words. Louis didn’t want him to stop speaking.

“Uhm, hi.”

The boy’s smile did not disappear. “Oh, you are English.” Italian undertones threaded his accent, and somehow, he became even more attractive to Louis when he spoke English.

“I am.” Louis gave him his best smile. “I’m a tourist here, just docked. Glad I found this place.”

The boy couldn’t help but grin. “Me too.” His eyes sparkled again, and Louis forgot how to breathe. “There is anything you want?”

Louis glanced down at the menu and still couldn’t understand it. “How about surprising me? And maybe bring out a drink? Beer?”

The boy nodded his head. “I am Harry. You are…?” He gestured to Louis.

“Louis. My name is Louis.” He gave Harry the warmest grin he could muster up.

“Louis…” His name hung on Harry’s tongue, echoing in Louis’ ears, lighting his soul with a fire he never wanted to extinguish; he wanted Harry to say his name over and over again, knowing it would never get old. “Mi piace…” Harry fluttered his eyes shut and turned around, heading back towards the bar and kitchen.

Louis leaned back in his seat, putting the menu down, finally getting his breath back. Harry was unlike anybody Louis had seen before. From his green eyes to his lean figure, Louis was breathless, euphoric. Nobody in England, nobody he’d ever seen prior, had even one ounce of the beauty that Harry had. Louis only just met him, and already, he was head over heels drunk, mad, lost. He wanted to know more about him, understand him, hold him, and more. And when the boy came back carrying a beer in one hand and a pasta dish in the other, Louis was determined to do just that.

With a smile on his face, Harry placed the plate with the beer in front of Louis. “Enjoy.” Each letter of the word was pronounced, emphasis being placed on the simple, five-letter word.

Before Harry turned to leave, Louis took in a deep breath and spoke, “Harry, would you like to join me?” Louis looked around the bar quickly, and save for a few towards the back, there was no one else in the restaurant.

Harry’s grin warmed Louis’ heart, and he bit his bottom lip. “Sì.” Harry took off the black apron his long torso donned and took the seat across from Louis in the booth. Harry’s eyes locked on Louis’, and much like before, Louis’ body started responding in ways he was not used to. His palms started to perspire, his heart raced, his stomach filled with butterflies; but he wouldn’t have it any other way. He liked Harry a lot more than he anticipated.

Pulling himself out of Harry’s trance, Louis looked down at the dish before him. “What exactly is this?” He twirled the fork in the pasta a bit, playing with the small pieces of tomato and the light sprinkling of basil; the oil made the pasta glisten in the dim light overhead.

“Eat.” Harry nodded his head towards Louis. “You eat, sì?”

Louis chuckled at Harry’s fragmented sentences. “Okay, okay, I’ll eat it.” He twisted the fork until he had a small amount. Not wanting to make a fool out of himself, he lifted it up in the air and checked for extra pasta. Louis felt Harry’s eyes on him, and when he finally looked at him, Harry’s face held no judgement, only curiosity and – what Louis hoped to be – bliss. Louis gleefully brought the mouthful to his lips and used his tongue to take it off the fork. Harry swallowed at the action, and Louis refused to take his eyes off of him. Louis chewed silently, examining his taste buds and calculating the perfect response to Harry’s dish.

Once Louis swallowed every morsel, Harry smiled. “Ti piace? You like?”

“Did you make that yourself?”

Harry nodded, his smile getting bigger by the second.

Louis matched his elation. “Well, then, I’m going to have to keep you around. You’re an amazing chef, Harry.”

Under the golden lights, Louis noticed the faintest blush coat Harry’s cheeks. His eyes fluttered again, and he looked at the table. “Grazie.” He looked up, the blush still on his face, and met Louis’ eyes. “I love to stay.”

Louis felt his whole body shut down. His brain stopped functioning. The signal from his brain to his heart failed. His lips were unable to move. The nerves in his stomach were a sure sign that his organs were quitting. The only thing Louis could do was to stare into Harry’s eyes and get lost, scatter-brained, hopeless. There was no use trying to leave; Louis was taken, befuddled, gob-smacked, head-over-heels stolen by Harry. This was the freedom he needed; this was what he’d been craving all along.

When Louis’ synapses finally sparked, the words trickled out of his mouth without a filter, without any ounce of regret. “I’d love for you to stay, too, Harry.”

Three drinks later and a much-needed translator, Harry closed the bar, and the two of them left together, Louis’ arm draped around Harry’s lower back and Harry’s placed perfectly on Louis’ shoulders. Harry kept drifting even closer to Louis, their bodies flush against each other as Harry whispered sweet nothings into Louis’ ear: some were in melodic Italian while others sounded in broken English. But one stood out the most to Louis.

_I want to see your boat._

Louis didn’t know why it was so important or why Harry even cared at all. However, if taking him to see the small boat he called home for thirteen days meant that he would spend more time with Harry, then he was determined to give him that.

By the time they reached the dock, the moon was high above, full and bright, the water a mirror beneath it. Louis watched Harry’s every move, every expression, and when the boat came into view, Harry’s dimples appeared and his pace picked up. Louis walked beside him in tandem and gave Harry his hand when they stepped onto the deck. Harry kept muttering comments here and there, Italian phrases filling the silence. Louis just stood by the rope in awe as he watched the most beautiful man stand before him, fluttering back and forth across the deck until he disappeared into the cabin. Louis silently untied the rope from the dock, hoping they’d drift just a bit, just to get away from reality if only for the night.

Following Harry’s footsteps, Louis entered the cabin beneath and saw his angel – because, truly, that’s what Harry had become to Louis – sitting on the edge of the bed, smiling like a million suns at Louis. Who needed the light of the moon at night when he had Harry.

“I like your boat. It is very nice, pretty.” Harry ran his hands over the bed sheets, closing his eyes and arching his back, exposing his neck and shooting straight to Louis’ cock. His breathing faltered, and he sat down right next to Harry. Before he knew it, his hand was on Harry’s right leg, and Harry’s body twitched ever so slightly. He turned to look at Louis, his eyes the only thing Louis could see in the dark cabin. Their faces were inches from each other, and Louis waited, the tension building in his body like a taught steel cable. It was he who closed the gap, bringing his lips to Harry’s. A fire lit between the two of them, their hot bodies relaxing as Louis’ hand travelled down Harry’s back and as Harry’s hand threaded through Louis’ hair. Suddenly, the language gap was the furthest thing from their minds.

Harry rocked backwards, his tongue trailing over Louis’ bottom lip as Louis pressed on top of him. Harry wrapped his legs around Louis’ waist, keeping him impossibly close. Louis’ hands made their way down Harry’s chest as he slowly coaxed his shirt off. Harry followed in suit, taking Louis’ shirt off, only tearing their lips apart for a second. When their mouths opened just a little more, Louis’ tongue met Harry’s, and a current shot straight through his body, right down to his pants. As he pressed closer, he felt the heat radiating from Harry, and his face flushed, his eyes rolling back into his head.

As quickly as they began, Louis held himself up and looked down at the red-faced, breathless boy beneath him. “You’re beautiful, Harry.” Louis wound one of Harry’s curls around his finger, catching his breath if only for a moment.

Harry trailed the back of his fingers down the side of Louis’ face. “Beautiful.” Adoration soaked through every part of Harry’s being, and Louis turned his face to press his lips against Harry’s gentle fingers. Harry’s hand travelled behind Louis’ head and to his neck where he pulled Louis back to him, pressing his plumb red lips to his. In that moment, Louis vowed to never let him go.

Once they unwound themselves and stripped down to nothing, Harry rested on the bed, looking up at Louis with wide eyes. Louis shook his head in disbelief as he brought his lips to Harry once more. He was fully conscious of Harry’s heightened senses, his touches, his lips, his heat. Louis felt it all: Every trail down his back, every kiss on his neck, every linger on his lips. When Harry’s legs wound around Louis and Louis was deep inside him, Harry’s gasps became Louis’ moans. Harry’s cries became Louis’ drive because he wanted nothing more than to hear those broken words slip from Harry’s mouth. When the moonlight finally shown into the cabin, basking the two lovers in pure white, Harry arched his back once more and a broken cry escaped his lips. Louis pressed into Harry one more time and dug his fingers into Harry’s hips, eliciting a soft moan from Harry as his eyes shut and his body relaxed beneath Louis’ grasp.

Louis positioned himself right next to Harry, their hands intertwined. Harry slowly moved closer to Louis, his head finding a spot in the nape of Louis’ neck. He didn’t know if it was gentle rocking of the boat or the simple breathing of the boy beside him, but that night, Louis fell into the most peaceful sleep of his life.

Louis would have stayed asleep forever if it meant being next to Harry, but by morning, the sun shone directly into the cabin and he woke up disoriented and anxious. Then, he remembered he wasn’t alone; lying next to him was the boy with the curls and red, plump lips, snoring lightly, little coos escaping his lips on every breath. As Louis realized the boat was rocking beneath them, he silently got out of bed and walked up to the deck. He looked out at the endless water and saw no land in sight, no glimmer of a city or a country for miles. Louis hadn’t expected this to happen because now he had a boy he just met on a boat going nowhere. Breaking it to him could destroy Louis’ chances of actually keeping him around because maybe Harry didn’t want the same thing Louis wanted.

These thoughts raced in his head and started to make a permanent home there until Louis felt a pair of arms wind around his waist and those same plump lips trail his neck, slurring a breathless _buongiorno_ as Harry placed a kiss on that same spot that he nestled in last night. At that moment, Louis realized that maybe Harry didn’t mind after all and that maybe he and Harry were in the same book, on the same page, same sentence, same word.

Louis spun around and wrapped his arms around the boy he already was falling in love with and pressed a tender kiss to his lips.

“Good morning.” Harry’s face lit up, and his tongue peeked out behind his smile. Louis returned the grin, pulling Harry closer to his body. “So what do we do now?”

Harry’s fingers ran down Louis’ back, causing him to shiver and shut his eyes. “I go with you.” Those words caused Louis to stare back into Harry’s eyes, in more shock than anything. “I stay with you.” Harry pressed his body flush against Louis’, and they melted into each other’s arms. For the first time, Louis finally felt home.

Days passed, and Harry and Louis became more infatuated with each other, their bodies, their limits, their love. Louis couldn’t stop tugging on Harry’s curls when he buried himself in his love, and Harry couldn’t stop dragging his nails down Louis’ muscular back. They spent their days planning, figuring out what exactly they wanted to do in the Mediterranean; and their nights, they spent making sweet love and folding up in each other, becoming a mess of limbs by morning.

By the seventeenth day, Harry picked up Louis’ journal hidden under his pillow and opened it up to the first page. By the time Louis came down into the cabin, Harry was on the second to last entry, a distant look in his eyes. Louis sat down next to him, legs crossed, and waited. Louis wasn’t mad; in a way, he wanted Harry to know his flaws because Louis knew he had far too many. When Harry finished, he put the journal back under the pillow and rested his head on Louis’ shoulder.

“You are perfect.” Harry’s voice was barely a whisper; it sounded choked and clouded by tears.

Louis kissed Harry’s head. “If you keep saying that, one day, I think I’ll finally believe it.”

In the next breath, Harry commented on Louis’ desire to go to France, saying he read it in his journal. As soon as they found a land-marker, they headed out of the Mediterranean Sea and through the Strait of Gibraltar, back past Portugal and Spain and the Bay of Biscay. Harry kept babbling in broken English and fluent Italian the closer they came to France; he’d never been there before, much like Louis, and he was just as excited, if not more. Right as the boat made its way to a dock, Louis changed his mind. Harry’s face as they passed the dock was the cutest thing Louis had ever seen.

He just walked over to his pouting boy and said, “trust me, love.”

By day twenty, they docked on the coast of Germany, a place Louis originally had no intention of going and a place Harry wanted to stay away from.

However, Louis insisted, “it will be unlike anything we’re used to. France has similar culture to Italy. I want you to see something completely different, new. Okay, baby?”

Harry just batted his eyes and kissed Louis and escorted himself off the boat. When they were finally on solid ground again, Louis took Harry to the first shop in the town of Norden. With his credit card, Louis bought Harry a whole new wardrobe since he came with just the clothes on his back, though regularly neither of them wore anything on the boat. Louis bought some new things as well to alternate if needed, and after, they made their way to the streets of Germany.

The town was small and seemed lifeless until Harry and Louis turned the street corner and light chatter flooded their ears. Sitting on a bench right across from a restaurant and bar was a street artist surrounded by a small number of people. Harry’s attention latched onto the tattooed man, and Harry and Louis walked hand-in-hand over to the crowd. They waited patiently for the crowd to fade, and once they did, the two had a perfect view of the young man. He looked about Louis’ age with high hair and tattoos that covered his right arm and upper chest. When he looked up from the small canvas on his lap, he smiled at Harry and Louis.

“Guten tag!”

Harry’s eyes widened, and Louis stepped forward. “Hi, we don’t speak German. Sorry.” Louis gave him a sideways smile. Harry gripped Louis’ shirt a little tighter.

“Oh, English, I see.” His German accent was thick, changing the sound of every word he spoke. He stood up from his seat, rested his canvas on the bench, and stopped in front of Louis. “My name is Zayn.” He held out his hand.

Harry pulled slightly on Louis’ shirt, but he just grinned and took Zayn’s hand. “Hello, I’m Louis, and this is” – Louis paused, thinking of the right word, though he already had it on his lips, he was dying to say it – “my boyfriend, Harry.”

Zayn grinned. “English, too, ja?”

Harry shook his head. “Italian.”

Zayn let out a booming laugh. “Aren’t we a trio?”

Louis nodded, chuckling along with Zayn, but Harry stayed still, staring at the abundance of tattoos lacing together on the artist’s arm.

Zayn noticed. “You like, ja?”

Harry spoke, almost robotically. “They did hurt?”

He smiled, his white teeth shining. “The first one, ja. Second one, not as bad. Third, a little easier. Forth, nearly painless. The rest, not at all. You want one?”

“They are nice, mi piace.”

“I like you, Harry and Louis. I can take you where I get my tattoos. Would you like that?”

Harry’s eyes snapped over to Louis, searching for an answer to Zayn’s question. Louis saw longing in his eyes, a quiet hope that Louis would agree to Zayn’s offer. Louis leaned over and placed a kiss to Harry’s lips. “Let’s go; take us there.” The smile that stretched across Harry’s face was well-worth the pain that would soon come.

After picking up some food at the restaurant across the street, Zayn led the couple to his tattoo parlor two blocks down, past another row of stores and a fresh open market that Louis promised Harry they’d visit on the way back. The tattoo shop welcomed Harry and Louis with open arms, and Zayn said that, whatever they wanted, it was on him. Louis thanked him up and down as Harry contemplated every tattoo he ever wanted.

With wide, green eyes, he walked up to Louis, took his hand in his, and said, “I know what I want.”

“And what’s that, love?”

Harry held up his left hand. “‘I can’t change’ right here.” He smiled, pointing at the front of his wrist. “I heard a song once. I like it.”

Louis picked up Harry’s hand and kissed his wrist. “I love it. It’s perfect. It’s you.”

Harry smiled and spun around to tell the tattoo artist exactly what he wanted. As he went to the chair, Harry kept turning around and looking at Louis standing next to Zayn, and it hit Louis like a freight train. He ran over to Harry, took his right hand in his, and stood next to him through the pain of his first tattoo. Somewhere between the ‘N’ and ‘G’, Louis realized that he wanted a tattoo as well. Harry finished, and Louis took a seat, smiling widely at a confused Harry. Louis explained that he wanted quotation marks on his right inside wrist. Harry waited patiently until he was done, watching every grimace on Louis’ face, before Harry asked him why he wanted that particular tattoo. Louis didn’t verbally answer; he just took Harry’s hand in his, and tears threatened to fall from Harry’s eyes.

“When we hold hands, it looks like I’m quoting you.”

Harry didn’t have anything much to say, so he kissed Louis and refused to let go of his hand.

Zayn paid for the tattoos graciously and offered them a room to stay in for the night. Louis thanked him but said that Harry really wanted to go to France. Once good-byes and phone numbers were exchanged, Harry and Louis headed back to the dock, and Zayn took his canvases and pencils and walked home, whistling a nameless tune.

As the boat floated down the coast of the Netherlands and Belgium, Harry kept holding Louis’ hand, looking at their tattoos and how they matched perfectly. Every time Harry’s eyes travelled down to their wrists, Louis placed a kiss on Harry’s lips, pulling him just a little bit closer, refusing to let him go. As they entered the English Channel on the twenty-second day, Louis looked to his right and saw a faded coast of the country he called home. Suddenly, his heart ached just a bit and his mind wandered to his home and mother and life before. However, Harry tugged on his hand and pulled his attention back to the French coast to their left and the beautiful boy holding his hand. Quickly, Louis forgot about his past and looked to his future with the gorgeous boy fate brought him.

When the time came to dock, Harry picked the port city, pointing towards the city with the rustic houses and evergreens on the coast. It looked lively enough, Louis thought, and they docked in the city Boulogne-sur-Mer. Harry rambled on about the lighthouse and belfry on the coast, some of his words English, some of them French. Even if Louis couldn’t quite understand him, when Harry spoke, Louis’ world stopped and nothing else mattered.

The city was teeming with life, well-dressed people busily walking and indescribable chatter fluttering down every street. Harry commented on the old brick roads and the beautiful people, and Louis could tell that Harry was enjoying France much more than Germany. Louis was enjoying himself as well because Harry was.

As if by some sort of unspoken tradition, Louis took Harry to the first restaurant and bar in the small town, walking up and down the streets until one came into view. They walked in quietly, trying not to bring too much attention, and Louis escorted Harry to the bar. Harry blushed and muttered something about not normally drinking, but Louis insisted and sat down next to Harry, not letting go of his hand for a second.

The people sitting down in the lounge area chatted quietly as Louis looked around the bar. Next to him, two seats down, was a man in a suit and tie, sipping thoughtfully from a bottle of beer, a smile never leaving his lips. Louis couldn’t help but smile back as the bartender came up to him and Harry and asked, in English, what they wanted to drink.

“Oh, I bet you can tell we aren’t from around here, yeah?” Louis commented as Harry grinned and reddened. The bartender laughed, and the man next to them looked over, his smile still present, and ran his hand over his buzzed hair. “Well, I’ll have a beer, and Harry will have a” – Louis stole a glance at his boyfriend, who was now furiously blushing – “give him a rum and coke to start off with. And go lightly on the rum.” The bartender nodded in agreement and headed towards the other end of the bar.

Harry nuzzled his head in Louis’ neck. “I do not drink.” His breath tickled, and a shiver ran though Louis’ body.

Louis brushed his right cheek against the side of Harry’s face. “With me, though, love, you’re going to have to get used to it.” He kissed the outline of Harry’s ear.

Pulling them out of their little world, the bartender placed the two drinks in front of them. Louis thanked him, and Harry just eyed his drink. Louis chuckled and pointed to the small straw sticking out of the glass. “Just drink from that if you want. Don’t worry; it shouldn’t be really strong.” Louis tipped back his beer bottle and sighed as the cool liquid ran down his throat. He didn’t realize how much he missed the familiar drink.

Harry picked up the tumbler and brought the straw to his lips. Louis rubbed his thumb on the top of Harry’s hand as his boyfriend swallowed quietly and thoughtfully. Harry’s face was expressionless until he placed the drink back on the bar; then, a wide grin stretched across his face.

“Mi piace,” Harry whispered.

Louis placed a sloppy kiss on Harry’s lips. “See? Not as bad as you thought.”

Harry licked his lips. “You taste funny.” He let out a giggle.

“That’s the beer, honey.” Louis brought his left hand up to Harry’s cheek. “You’ll have to get used to that, too.”

“Maybe.” Harry brought his drink back to his mouth and took another sip. He grinned with the straw in between his lips.

“I think this may be the last time you drink; you become quite sassy when you’re intoxicated.” Louis couldn’t stop smiling, his heart growing bigger by the second for the boy sitting beside him.

When the bartender came back, he asked if they wanted anything else, to which Louis responded a sincere no, saying that one drink was just enough. Just as Louis reached for his wallet to pay, the man sitting next to him slid over one seat and placed money on the bar.

“It’s on me,” he said, his light French accent loud in Louis’ ear.

Harry leaned over the bar to get a look at the new stranger while Louis smiled and said, “thanks, mate.”

“Of course,” he said, patting Louis on the back. “I’m in the best mood right now, so I want to spread it around.” He shot a smile at Harry. “I’m Liam, by the way.”

“Louis, and this is my boyfriend, Harry.” Harry gave Liam a feeble grin, still a bit confused as to what was going on, only understanding select words in the conversation.

“Enchantés.” Liam took a sip of his drink. “I just quit my job. I moved here four years ago, and I worked there for three years; it was absolute hell. So I just stood up and quit. I couldn’t be happier.”

“Happy for you,” Louis said. “Sometimes you have to do something risky in the present to reach something better in the future.” He looked over at Harry. “I would know.” Then, Louis fell into the story of how he came to meet Harry and how they were determined to make it to France and how the boat was their home and how they decided to get tattoos and how Louis couldn’t get enough of Harry. All the while, Harry just smiled as Louis rambled a little too much over his future with the boy next to him. Liam nodded in all the right places and lit up over the tattoos and watched Louis’ eyes glass over, lost in thoughts of Harry.

Then, the late afternoon turned to night, and after four more drinks, the three walked as steadily as they could out of the bar and onto the street. Liam complained about a boat hardly being a good place to sleep; but Harry insisted they go back. Truthfully, Louis couldn’t see himself sleeping anywhere else but next to Harry on that boat in the moonlight. Of course, Liam asked for Louis’ number if he ever went back to England, and Louis took Liam’s. They parted ways, much like with Zayn, and headed back to the small boat as Liam walked down the street and told every person he could about how he quit his job and how he was so happy.

As Louis guided him back, Harry stopped dead in his tracks in front of a small shop. Louis looked at the sign above the door and shook his head. “Harry, you want another tattoo, don’t you?” Harry nodded sheepishly and tugged Louis over to the entrance. No one was in the small parlor, and Harry walked right up to the counter. The man spoke in perfect English to Harry as he attempted to explain his next tattoo idea, Louis rested his hands on Harry’s hips and listened quietly.

“Two birds, sparrows, on my chest, here” – Harry pointed to a spot over his heart – “and here.” Harry tapped the opposing spot in his chest. “Black, white, and gray, per favore.” He gave the man a small grin, and the tattoo artist escorted Harry to the back. Louis didn’t question his decisions as Harry disappeared behind a black curtain; he was excited to see how they would come out but even more excited to lick them.

The other artist in the room started talking to Louis, and before he knew it, Louis was sitting down in a chair getting a bird tattoo, a sparrow, in fact, on his right forearm. It was a surprise for Harry, another matching tattoo, another impulse decision. However, Louis’ relationship with Harry seemed to be completely based on impulse, and Louis would not have it any other way. If they hadn’t followed their quick-thinking hearts, Louis would not have the amazing boy attached to his side.

When Harry finally came out, he was topless and smiling. Louis had plastic wrap over his arm, and healing lotion covered Harry’s upper chest, reflecting light as Harry walked towards Louis. Harry gave Louis a weak smile and tilted his head down, hiding his eyes under the swoop of his hair. Louis grabbed Harry’s chin and lifted his head up.

“I love them.” Louis craved to touch them, to run his tongue over them, to suck little love bites on their wings.

Once they paid with the cash Louis had left, he showed Harry his tattoo on the way to the dock. Harry’s eyes glistened, and he pulled Louis into a hug, kissing his cheek. When they were on the boat, they stripped down to nothing and lay down on the bed. Louis traced the outline of Harry’s birds with his finger, and Harry nibbled lightly behind Louis’ ear. As Louis’ breath quickened, Harry’s hands explored Louis’ body, and the moonlight flooded the cabin as Harry sat on top of Louis, little puffs of air coming out from his lips. Louis kept his hands locked on Harry’s hips, moving Harry in time with the rhythm of his body. Harry dragged his nails down Louis’ chest, leaving eight red lines behind by morning, but at the time, that drove Louis over the edge. He moaned and gripped Harry’s hips just a little tighter, his eyes locked on Harry’s reaction. When he felt Louis come deep inside him, Harry shut his eyes, opened his mouth, and arched his back as a white fire burned deep in his stomach. The warm liquid coated Louis’ chest, and he refused to take his eyes off of Harry has he came down from his high. Harry collapsed forward, and Louis caught him, moving him next to him on the bed. Harry rolled up and pressed his face into Louis’ neck, and his sweet breath lingered there for the night.

The next morning after breathless kisses and tender touches, Harry confessed to Louis that he wanted to go to Ireland. Louis laughed and wondered why, but instead of questioning, Louis just wanted to keep that beautiful smile on Harry’s face. By the evening, they were almost out of the English Channel, on their way to Ireland, Louis’ neighboring country. On day twenty-six, Louis docked the boat right outside of Dublin; if Harry wanted to see Ireland, he needed to see Dublin.

They arrived at night, and the city vibrated with life. People filled the streets, music played out of bars, a small fight here or there attracted attention, and Harry was enthralled by it all. Without hesitation, Louis pulled Harry into a calm bar, where they sat down in the back to get a proper meal. Louis held Harry’s hand across the table. “I know it’s not gonna be like your cooking, but it’ll be something.”

Harry leaned a little closer. “It does not matter. I am with you.” He gently ran his fingertips over Louis’ sparrow, getting lost in Louis’ eyes.

After minutes of quiet talking, their waiter came over and knelt at their table. “What can I get yeh?” he said, his Irish accent slurring his words.

“Hi,” Louis said, grinning at the blond boy. “We’d like whatever you’d recommend. We’re just here for the night to visit the city.” Harry nodded in agreement.

The boy grinned. “Yeh? In that case, we gotta give yeh a good Irish time.”

Louis laughed. “I don’t think so. Not tonight. Maybe some other time…” He hesitated.

“Niall. The name’s Niall. Student at University College Dublin by day. Waiter and professional partier by night. And ye lovebirds are?” He gave a sly grin.

“I’m Louis, and this is Harry.” Harry gave a curt grin. “Sorry for his silence; he’s Italian, and his English isn’t perfect.”

Niall let out a full-body laugh. “Don’t worry; me English is god-awful. Yeh need a drink, that’s what it is.” Louis opened his mouth to remark, but Niall hushed him. “Nah, it’s on me, yeh, the food and all. No worries, I like yeh both. Be right back wit’ yeh drinks.”

After two drinks each and a steaming, hot plate of tradition Irish cuisine, Niall took a seat with Louis and Harry, and the three chatted like old friends. Harry warmed up to him and laughed at all his jokes and make comments at the perfect spots. Louis tipped his beer back with Niall as they talked about politics and school and music and alcohol and sex. Niall was so free-spirited, and Louis thought that the five of them, Zayn and Liam included, would make a good group, each having a different personality but each one complimenting each other perfectly.

By the time the night ended, Niall complained about an exam tomorrow morning and threw his number to Louis, saying, “yeh better call me, yeh? I won’t forgive yeh if yeh don’t let me see this here boyfriend of yers again.”

Louis nodded hopefully, and Harry gave Niall a hug good-bye. On the way back to the boat, Harry chattered nonstop about the three new friends they made, specifically Niall, and how he was having so much fun.

Somewhere in the middle of Harry’s monologue, Louis noticed a sticker on the back of someone’s car that read, “London Bound.” That was when Louis stopped listening to Harry and started hearing the repressed thoughts in his head. A small distance away was the country he called home for twenty years of his life. Suddenly, all the memories of those twenty years flooded Louis’ thoughts and vision: Birthdays and Christmases and kisses and hugs and dinners and love. Though Louis wanted nothing more than to stay with Harry – or so he thought at the time – a part of him, a part bigger than he imagined, missed that home. When Harry pulled on Louis’ shirt, he met confused, green eyes. Louis just pulled Harry closer as they walked onto the boat and went out into the water once more. The whole night, while Harry slept silently in his arms, Louis’ thoughts gave him no sleep.

By morning, they drifted somewhere off the coast of southwest England. Not daring to wake Harry, Louis walked silently up on deck and had a flashback to the first night they were together. Harry’s touches burned Louis’ body, and his mind blazed with the memory of that night.  Despite this, despite the raging desire Louis had for Harry, he longed for that old familiar place, the place he despised but hoped for again: His family, his home. When Harry’s arms found their way around his waist again, Louis couldn’t help but pull away from Harry just a bit. When Harry kissed his neck and whispered again, Louis didn’t quite hear the words.

By day thirty, they were well on their way into the Mediterranean Sea because Harry said he wanted to visit Greece, and Louis didn’t quite break it to Harry that he wanted to go home. When they were about to pass Italy by the thirty-third day, Louis turned the boat and went towards Harry’s hometown. Confused, Harry didn’t know what to say, but when they docked in Minori again, Louis finally had all the words.

“Harry, I don’t know how to say this; I don’t even know if I want to say this, but my thoughts have been scattered and I don’t want to lead you on anymore. I miss my home. I miss my mother and my stepfather and my old memories. I wanted freedom from them, and I achieved that. But now, I think it’s time for me to go back.” Louis paused to gage Harry’s reaction, but his face gave nothing away. “I don’t want this, but I have to do it. And I don’t want you to think that the moments we shared were anything less than perfect because they were the best nights of my life. But…” Louis stopped, the words drying up in his head. “Do you understand what I’m trying to say?”

The wind around them and the sails billowing were the only sounds. After seconds turned into minutes, Harry finally came to life but not in the way Louis expected. He walked straight past Louis and into the cabin. Louis didn’t dare to move; he just held his breath and waited until he heard those familiar footsteps behind him. In his hand, Harry held the few pieces of clothing Louis bought him. “I understand.”

Louis gasped for breath. “Harry, I’m so –”

Harry pressed his finger against Louis’ mouth. “I hoped we would stay, but it is okay. That is your home. This is mine. You must go.” Harry leaned in and pressed his red lips to Louis’, and their tongues twirled together one more time. Harry smiled at Louis, his dimples dropping Louis’ heart into his stomach, and left the boat and Louis behind. As Louis looked around the boat, he realized that he couldn’t bear to be on it anymore; the memories were too strong, and he needed to forget. He gathered his clothes and took his journal and tied the boat to the dock, leaving Harry and his memories on that beach.

After he used what was left in his bank account, the plane ride home was much too silent for Louis’ taste. Every time he shut his eyes, he saw Harry, but when he opened them again, he saw his future back with his family again. Louis didn’t sleep much on the flight home.

The house looked exactly like it did before he left. His expensive car still sat in the driveway, and the deck and beach still sat behind the house. The key was still hidden under the doormat, and the house was still cleaner than ever, despite the party Louis left over a month ago.

When the door closed behind him, Louis’ mother appeared around the corner, tears filling her eyes, as she threw her arms around her son.

He buried his face deep in his mother’s shoulder and just kept muttering the words, “I’m home.”

She didn’t ask, and he didn’t divulge. As quickly as he left, Louis fell into that same routine again: Money, parties, parental doting, repeat. However, this time, when his parents gave him something new, he didn’t groan about it; he just said thank you and took the gift. He tasted freedom, but this was his reality and he saw no use in fighting it anymore.

Two weeks, a party, and another tattoo later, Louis’ phone lit up at three in the morning on a spring day. Groggily, he flipped over to read the text message, and when he did, he was wide awake. Louis received one of the messages he hoped to never get; Niall wanted to know if he and Harry could come over tomorrow night for a party. Louis stared at the bright screen, his fingers faltering over a response. After ten minutes, when he still couldn’t find the words, he turned on his bedroom light and picked up his already dusty journal. He opened up to the last page, and a crinkled piece of paper fell out. Louis’ eyes instantly landed on that same word.

_Freedom._

He fell back onto his bed, closed his eyes, and tried to push down the feeling rising from his stomach; but he couldn’t fight it. He flipped forward a few pages and came to the last journal entry, except it wasn’t his. Louis covered his mouth as tears pricked his eyes.

_“I don’t regret us. I will miss you greatly. You showed me true beauty and treated me better than I deserve. You are perfect. Tell you that everyday. Ti amo, Louis. I love you.”_

A tear fell on the word perfect and another on love. Louis gasped for breath as the journal slipped from his hands and landed on the floor. He looked around his room with the big walls and expensive things and realized that this wasn’t his home. He was wrong all along. His home was living in Italy with curly hair and thick lips and a smile that made even the darkest nights bright. As Louis brushed the newly healed compass on his right arm, he knew exactly what home it was pointing to. Louis grabbed his journal and packed a small bag and left a note on the counter saying he’d be back in a few days. This time, he brought his phone and hoped that Harry would be on that beach waiting for him. If he wasn’t, Louis would beg Harry to be his again.

The flight seemed longer this time, and Louis’ anxiety got the best of him. He passed his time by texting Niall, saying he couldn’t make it tomorrow night. He didn’t explain exactly why, but Niall said that it was okay, that they’d get together another time; Louis hoped that, too. After Niall, Louis texted Zayn and Liam, telling them that he was home – or, truthfully, would be home – and hoped that they would keep in touch. Zayn texted back with a quick, “definitely!” and Liam replied hours later with an, “I miss you two.” After that text, Louis held his breath as his plane landed and he took a taxi to the small town of Minori.

When he arrived at the small bar by late afternoon, the familiar music beckoned Louis in. He took the same seat as before, looking around for that face he so desperately needed to see. When that body that Louis knew every curve and every line of appeared, the butterflies in his stomach returned, but Louis didn’t want them to ever go away. Louis immediately saw the tattoo of a ship on Harry’s left arm, and his heart fluttered. They were destined to be together; fate brought them together, and fate was determined to keep them together.

Instead of waiting, Louis stood up, and Harry caught the movement and lost his breath. There were people in the room, but they faded away as Louis closed the gap between them and pressed his lips to Harry’s. In return, Harry wrapped his arms around Louis, not allowing daylight to show between them. Louis broke the kiss to sprinkle Harry’s face with kisses, muttering phrases like, “I’m sorry” and “I was wrong” and “forgive me.” However, Harry wanted nothing of that because he knew those things already. He just pulled Louis back to his lips, and they interlocked their hands together just to make sure it wasn’t a dream. By the time their hearts were racing and their lips were dry, they had the bar’s attention. Harry blushed, and Louis wrapped his arms around the best thing in his life. He directed Harry out of the bar and onto the beach where that boat was still docked and where their memories still lived.

When Louis looked into Harry’s eyes, he noticed they were far away, focused on Louis’ arm. “Compass,” Harry said, dragging his finger across the inked skin.

“Ship,” Louis whispered, trailing Harry’s arm.

“Boat,” Harry corrected, his smile warming Louis’ heart. “Our boat.” Harry’s gaze turned towards their boat, and Louis looked at the boy in front of him and wondered why he ever left.

Apologies were long wasted and explanations weren’t needed because Harry understood, and Louis was slowly starting to understand himself. The memories they shared, the kisses they exchanged, none of that could ever be replaced or destroyed.

As Harry’s eyes met his again, Louis brought his hand to Harry’s face. “I love you. I wish I would have told you sooner, but I love you, Harry, with all my heart.”

“You tell me now, is all that matters.” Harry traced the compass, moving over the word there. “Home.”

“You are my home, Harry. I didn’t see that before, but now, it’s right in front of me. You’re right in front of me. Wherever you are, Harry, that is my home.”

Harry fell into Louis’ arms, and for once in twenty years, Louis finally felt home.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading.
> 
> Comment, kudos, bookmark; thank you so much.


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